


On A Crimson Plain

by Vampiyaa



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s04e13 Journey's End, Reunions, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiyaa/pseuds/Vampiyaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Twelfth Doctor has finally found Gallifrey. Apparently, so has Rose and his dying metacrisis self. Sad Tentoo/Rose; Twelve/Rose reunion!fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On A Crimson Plain

On A Crimson Plain

The Doctor collapsed onto his knees, astonished laughter bursting from his throat, hands grabbing fistfuls of scarlet grass like a newborn child feeling something for the experience. Bubbling, almost silly laughs turned into delighted gales and he tossed back his head, breathing in the scent of dust and fresh air, feeling the heat of twin suns on his face.

He’d made it. After all these years of thinking he’d destroyed it and the brief decade of knowledge that he hadn’t, he’d made it. He was home. 

The TARDIS was two metres behind him, thrumming more happily than she had in ages, feeding off of his joy and using it as her own. He turned and beamed at her, shouting, “WE MADE IT, OLD GIRL!” 

The Doctor let out one last bark of laughter and rolled onto his back, the tips of the (beautiful— he’d never thought so before but _now_ …) red grass tickling his palms and his cheeks and the back of his neck. Unbidden in his moment of pure delight his mind flashed with a list of his companions, his friends, wishing he could share this moment with each and every one of them instead of simply with his ship. 

Dear Clara, who stopped him from destroying his (wonderful— again, a thought born from this moment) home planet, who refused to let him push the conveniently located big red button. She was gone now, married happily and a teacher where his Susan had been taught.

Darling Susan, his granddaughter, the angel that she was. Had she been with him now she’d probably be rolling around in the grass like he was, echoing his laughter, calling out to him (“ _Grandfather_!”) in her beautiful lilting voice with tears running down her cheeks. She’d be up here with him, on Mount Perdition overlooking the plains untouched by the Time War, twirling in circles and dancing among the yellow roses.

_Rose_. His Rose. 

Even after hundreds of years and more than enough hands to hold she still bore the hand he wanted. 

If Rose were with him, she’d probably be watching him — not joining in until he invited her (which he would, if it meant rolling around in the grass with her) because this moment was for him — tears of happiness at his own delight evident in her eyes or perhaps spilling down her face already. He’d wipe her tears away or perhaps kiss them away, if he was bold (probably not) and then, because he’d want this moment to be special for both of them, he’d tell her all his secrets. 

Spill his hearts to her. 

Tell her about everything from Gallifrey itself to how badly he wanted to snog her into the ground. Then he’d do just that, and they would make love in the crimson grass. That would be a fitting first time— in the fields where he grew up, on the planet he’d only been reunited with for a few minutes. She was happy now, hopefully, with his other self. 

The sound of TARDIS engines whining met his ears and the wind whipped the grass in multiple directions. He sat up quickly, watching in shock as another TARDIS materialised about two hundred yards away, at the bottom of the hill he was lying on. The second TARDIS was squatter than his, looked more battered and was a darker shade of blue, and didn’t have the St John Ambulance sticker on the right door. His hearts clenched— was this a past, post-Time War version of himself who’d stumbled upon his un-time locked home planet? He sincerely hoped not, since the last thing he wanted to do was tell his past self to leave and forget ever arriving. 

The doors flew open and someone came out. His mouth dropped open and his hearts stuttered— one of them was _her_. She looked dishevelled, messy blonde hair streaked with brown and hanging all the way down to her hips, and yet she still looked exactly the same age as when he left her. Her face was streaked with tears and running mascara as she lugged something into view.

He let loose a shocked cry— it was _him_. The metacrisis version of him, clad in a too-big pinstriped suit and hair the colour of the leaves on the trees, and he looked ancient. The Doctor had never liked watching his friends grow old, but seeing _himself_ looking so withered, so utterly exhausted… 

Wait.

How were they here, in this universe, _on this planet_?

Wait.

How did the metacrisis find out he hadn’t destroyed Gallifrey?

Wait.

Why was he old?

Wait.

If he was old, why wasn’t she?

_Wait_.

Unless… oh dear Rassilon, no…

Rose managed to pull the almost unconscious metacrisis a good few metres away from their own TARDIS before collapsing in the scarlet grass, lowering him gently into her lap. The Doctor abandoned his position atop the hill and started towards them, tripping over himself in his haste to get there. He paused when he heard their conversation, both apparently unaware that they weren’t alone.

“Look, Doctor,” she said gently, voice choked with tears. “Look where we are.”

Her hands combed through his (still thick and flyaway) greyed hair, encouraging him to open his eyes. They obliged, all wrinkled and tired-looking, widening when they got a good look at the sky. “We made it?”

“Yeah,” she said through her tears, now falling fast and thick on his pinstriped chest (the present Doctor was crying too, unaware that he was but doing it all the same). “We made it.” The metacrisis let out a happy noise, forcing his eyes open to properly drink in the sights despite how much they ached to drift closed. “It’s so pretty,” Rose said, even though her eyes were firmly locked on his wrinkled old face.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, eyelids flickering. Rose’s fingers stilled in his hair and she looked panicked. “Wish I coulda taken you here ages ago, Rose. Shown you where I grew up. Introduced you to—” he paused, seeming to muse lazily for a moment, “Well, I wouldn’t introduce you to anybody here. Time Lords are stuffy and rude.”

She chuckled despite herself, sniffling. “I’d want to meet ‘em anyway.”

“‘Course you would,” he hummed fondly. “My Rose, the most compassionate woman in the universe. Tried to save a lonely Dalek from itself and healed me twice. Found out my greatest secret before I even knew it was there and brought me home.” His face screwed up into what was the beginning of a sob that he’d clearly been holding back for a good few minutes now. “Don’t wanna leave you.”

“Doctor,” she whimpered out, now shaking with sobs.

“I’m scared, Rose,” he cried, turning his head so his face was pressed against her stomach. “Been scared since we found out you don’t age.” 

Wait. 

“I don’t want to go.”

_I don’t want to go._

“I know… I know…”

“My Rose,” he sobbed. 

“My Doctor,” she whispered, drawing in a rattling breath.

They simply cried together, for minutes that felt more like centuries, still unaware there was an equally devastated Doctor standing a few metres behind them. Soon the metacrisis’ sobs died away and all that were left were Rose’s, doubled in volume when the human Doctor went silent and limp. The Time Lord Doctor, face stained with tears and hearts jammed in the back of his throat, ached to touch her, to comfort her, but wrestled with the mutual desire to stay as far away as possible from his dead self. Somewhere in between he decided Rose was more important than his phobias and he dragged himself towards her again, tripping over himself yet again and landing on his knees behind her. Before she could turn around, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed her back into his front, face buried between her shoulder blades. 

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he breathed on a shuddery exhale, holding her close. “I didn’t know, I didn’t…” 

“Doctor?” she choked, hands leaving his dead predecessor’s hair and gripping the sleeve of his coat.

“It’s me,” he sobbed, raising one shaking hand to twine his fingers with hers. ( _Oh, the feeling_ ). “I’m here.”

“You found it? And me?”

“Always.”

And despite the fact that they were both sobbing their hearts out, it was the happiest day of his life. He found Gallifrey, and he found her.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Beta: natural-blues**.  
>  **All my fics can be found on fanfiction.net, teaspoon and tumblr**.  
>  A/N: Just a short (really short) tragic story meant to make you all cry :3 mwahaha. Ahem. This was originally a 300 word drabble but got wayy out of hand. Hope you enjoyed, please review!


End file.
